


holy.

by eoghainy



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst, F/M, Major character death - Freeform, implied cloud and aerith, implied cloud and tifa, rewrite of the scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22327867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eoghainy/pseuds/eoghainy
Summary: this new heart beat to another’s fresh, unforgiving tune.
Kudos: 8





	holy.

**Author's Note:**

> so. i don’t know what this is, not really. i just finished final fantasy seven again, and i just felt like breaking out the old cloud muse and just writing. i wanted to explore cloud's capacity to feel and his disassociation from himself, especially seeing that he does still feel shit ( like in crisis core ). idk man. this is not one of my more well written pieces, it's just something i got out of my head so that it didn't eat me alive.

_Cloud, go to her._

Whispered words from the lips of a loved one; dark, wide eyes following him and watching every move as he leaps carefully from pillar to pillar, heart pounding in a dry throat. Her figure is turned away from him, light brown hair spilling in ringlets over her shoulder, pink bow looking akin to fresh spun silk and drawing him forward like a beacon. His head shakes as he ascends the stone steps towards her, feeling almost as if he were a puppet on a string. Aerith drew him forward in ways that he couldn’t explain – and stops at the crest, frozen in place by her.

She’s kneeling; head bowed, palms together and fingers spread together. Clearly praying to the Planet, or to the Cetra before her – he doesn’t know. What he does know is that he walks now, faster than before, a skip appearing in his step. His heart sings in his chest, responding to her careful call – though guilt lingers underneath the glee. For a moment, a face swims in his vision; full lips and dark eyes, thin dark hair and a happy smile. _She_ is the epitome of a childhood forgotten, of memories long gone. _She_ used to be the owner of a heart that just learned to beat again.

This new heart beat to another’s fresh, unforgiving tune.

A scarred hand reaches back to ghost against the hilt of a blade, gripping the pommel with certainty. Silence fills him – blinding his senses. He cannot hear past the rushing behind his ears, nor can he see past the static filling his vision; all he smells is the sickly sweet, fading scent of decay. He pulls the sword from its grip.

The cavern is silent. Aerith has not opened her eyes. His own breathing picks up in pace, lungs pulling shallow breath after shallow breath inwards.

_Do it._

Sword arcs overhead; heavy weight pulling his wrists downwards.

_Do it._

Muscles tense in preparation. Pupils dilate to swallow vividly blue irises; breath is held within a still chest. There is no sound, not even the rush of blood; there is no sight, not even the vision of static. Everything has come down to this very point. Arms shake with the effort of holding the sword at bay.

_Do it, Cloud._

Shoulders swivel forwards as the sword rushes through air, crying a symphony of confusion. Hearing snaps into focus as one crystal clear voice screams at him, _her_ voice being the only to cut through this sensory deprivation haze.

 _“Cloud, stop!” She_ wails, tone raised in panic and fear. He has scared _her_. If he looked behind him now and met _her_ gaze, he knew what he would find. He doesn’t turn.

Life returns to him as violently, he rips himself from Aerith, angrily battling against the foreign being within his mind. She still has not moved, let alone opened her eyes; she came inches from death by his hand, and she hadn’t even flinched. Fingers loosen enough upon the grip to drop the sword, hearing it hit the stone with a loud clamor; sound echoing throughout the cavern endlessly. Once it faded, it became so silent that Cloud could swear he heard his own heart beating.

Aerith opens her eyes.

There is a vibrant smile playing upon her beautiful face as sunlight streams in, casting her in heavenly light. She looks like a piece of art, something so beautiful and precious that a tainted man like Cloud could never touch, and he finds himself almost smiling back. Reassurance and peace almost fools him into joining her right there on the ground; into taking her hand, into touching her hair. She seems so _alive_.

The light grows brighter, seeming to radiate from within Aerith outwards. He feels blessed by her touch, reassured that things will be alright. It was peaceful. She was peaceful. It almost inspired Cloud to get ready for war.

He doesn’t notice the shadow looming over them, nor does he hear the telltale sounds of wind rustling through a heavy cloak. Realization strikes too late as he sees the pointed tip of a thin blade appearing behind her, and then _through_ her.

Blood sprays the stone as Aerith drops forward like a doll, supported only by the blade that had split cleanly through her chest. He can’t see through the blur of tears burning his eyes, so he misses her knowing smile; her reassuring quirk of the lips. He cannot see her trying to catch his eye with her beautifully green ones, can’t see her trying to quietly let him know that it’s alright. He misses the final goodbye that she tries so desperately to give him.

Someone is screaming, and it isn’t Aerith. Cloud can hear it, distantly, like he’s miles away; a raw, anguished sound that seems to be pulling deep from the person’s core, like they had just lost part of their soul. He watches through a stranger’s eyes as the newly appeared Sephiroth essentially _shakes_ Aerith off of his weapon as if she were an inconvenience, as if he didn’t wish to touch her body. She hits the stone where her blood has pooled and does not move again.

Their eyes meet. Sephiroth is glaring down at him, lips twisted into a deranged snarl. No words are spoken. Cloud knows, deep in his heart, that he will either kill Sephiroth – or die trying. There will be no in between, no middle ground; it will end with one of them succumbing. He didn’t intend for it to be him.

As quickly as he appeared, Sephiroth was gone; sucking all of the light and hope from the cavern as he went. Barret is saying something, but Cloud can’t make his hearing come back. He can’t focus beyond the sight before him.

Aerith is on her side facing away from him, hair undone and stained with her own blood. The tear in her dress reveals the gaping, bloody wound Sephiroth left her with; everywhere Cloud looks, she is stained red. The petal pink fabric is ruby, her hair is black with it, her skin coated in the thick, coppery blood. It’s even managed to get on her face, making the brilliant green of her eyes look even more beautiful than when she was alive.

He doesn’t know when he fell to his knees, or how he managed to crawl over to her body. Trembling, bloody fingers take hold of her gentle face, turning her still head towards him; bottom lip quivering as this emotion rips wildly through him. Cloud can still hear the screaming, can feel the hot tears streaming down his cheeks, but he cannot make himself focus on anything but the scene that had just played before him.

_I have just shown you what grief is like._

Fingers brush over her eyelids to bring them down, effectively closing her eyes forever. She will never look at him again, never smile at him again; never blush at his poor attempts to impress her, never laugh at anything. She’ll never cry or get angry or love anyone ever again. He’ll never see her eyes, or her smile, never hear her gentle, quiet voice _ever again_.

 _Do you remember when you have felt it before? It feels the same, more or less. I have taken the doll that you so love_.

There’s a clatter from behind as Tifa and Barret join him. Cloud has pulled Aerith’s head into his lap, uncaring as he gets blood all over his armor and hands. The screaming is a dull buzz in his ears. Is it Tifa? It surely couldn’t be Barret.

_It still surprises me that you can feel this vividly. You must have loved her. Emotion like this is not common for those like you. Perhaps you are beginning to wake up._

Hands pull gently at his shoulders, and Cloud goes willingly; no objections are spoken as he is tucked against Tifa’s chest, cheek resting against her collarbone and ear landing above her heart. He can hear it pounding a broken, hollow beat.

_I know you know that deep down, you are not like them. Somewhere in your denial-filled brain, you are aware of this. I want you to remember, to wake up._

She has fingers tangled in his hair and a hand on his face; he can feel her tears dripping onto his head. Looking at her beautiful and anguished face, he can see that she is not the one wailing. Her lips may be parted, but it is out of the desperation to hold back cries.

_Listen to your body. Did you see how I had such control over you? How you cannot even bring yourself back to yourself now, when I am gone?_

Her thumb strokes his wet cheek, coming away bloody. Aerith’s blood stains his face, too. He cannot breathe past the boulder in his chest, cannot bear to. As his throat rasps and his voice dies, Cloud understands that he had been the one making that awful, soul-wrenching, grating sound. It had not been Barret or Tifa, it had been _him_.

_I expect you to be in better shape when we meet again. I want you to keep good on your promise, to hold onto your hate; use it to kill me. If you can._

In the midst of the anguish, hatred blooms. It’s white-hot and angry as it spreads throughout his body, causing for fingers to tingle and for limbs to shake. His own cries subside against Tifa’s wet shirt as he stills, feeding into the volatile emotion. Cloud gasps against her chest, bringing poisoned air into his lungs.

 _Next time, I will be sure to kill more of your friends. Their energy can join the Planet, along with hers. Perhaps then you will all be reunited._

_She_ is whispering gentle sweet nothings in his ear, calming him; she does it as if she had been doing it her whole life. As if their souls were knit together and as if he loved her like she desired. She does it like she has green eyes and light brown hair and a gentle, maiden’s voice; Cloud aches for her and what he has put her through.

The cavern is silent, aside from his broken sobs and the gentle _drip, drip, drip_ of Aerith’s blood falling into the water. Cloud is all but completely supported by Tifa, and Aerith’s still body is held in Barret’s arms. She looks small and delicate against his massive frame, and the sharp pain of loss returns.

“Cloud, I’m so sorry, Cloud,” she’s whispering against the mess of his hair. Her voice is just as wrecked as he felt. “There was nothing we could do; I wish we could have saved her.” Her fingers tighten around a lock of his hair and pull upon the roots. The pain of it keeps him grounded. “I’m so _sorry_.”

He realizes he has not spoken. It could have been seconds, minutes, even hours; but the boulder on his chest has not reduced in size, only changed place. It now resides in his throat, choking him.

“How do we tell the others?” Tifa isn’t even speaking to him anymore; the question is directed at Barret. She sounds lost, like the realization of what had happened hadn’t yet set in.

“I don’t know.” Barret baritones. He has no words for this situation, and Cloud cannot blame him. He still has no words himself. The air between them all is still tense with silence, an unbearable, uncomfortable one.

“If it’s the last thing I do,” Cloud rasps in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own. His throat aches with the effort of speaking. “I will kill Sephiroth. I will kill him _for her_.”


End file.
